


The Fabric of Energy

by Promiscuous_Pidge



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hunk (Voltron)-centric, Hunk being a literal teddy bear, I just really wanted to give Lance a cape, Immortality, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Magic, Magic AU, POV Alternating, klance, shiro shows up for like .5 seconds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:50:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Promiscuous_Pidge/pseuds/Promiscuous_Pidge
Summary: All objects have a certain amount of magic in them, stemming from their emotional value. What emotion that is can vary from joy and love to hatred and spite. Hunk is known for his loving nature, and he's a great source for these positive items. It's the Caretaker's job to mend the corrupt, but he's starting to need a bit of help.*on indefinite hiatus*





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First ever Voltron fic! I'm super excited for this, so I hope you all enjoy the mess. Thanks!

"You know I can't do this without you!"

Tears were streaming down the boy's face, an unbridled waterfall he stopped trying to hold back. With each teardrop that hit the ground, soft blue tendrils of light snuck out of the rich dirt and coiled around them in a whispering dance.

A strong and gentle hand rested on his shoulder. It was meant to soften the oncoming blow, but it only helped to break his heart.

"Don't tell yourself that, Lance. You're ready; I can feel it," he said in a soft confirmation. He smiled, and Lance noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked. Just how long had his mentor been doing this? He knew he was a war veteran, but the millennium he couldn't quite place. He wore a simple enough outfit that seemed to match the norm of Lance's time, with the added half-cloak to shield his injury. It gave him the illusion that he wasn't old, and certainly not ready to leave.

Lance was stuck in a place he didn't know how to escape. He knew what needed to be done, but that would mean being all alone for centuries. As they both knew, Lance had an affinity for the task, but he still wanted more time to perfect it. More time to gather his wits. But most of all he was terrified of being lonely.

A deep sigh cut him off from his thoughts. "Lance, I know this is hard. Trust me, when I had to take over..." he trailed off, a sad, distant glaze filling his eyes. He looked to be gaining age with every exhale of breath. "I'm not saying it won't be painful. But I couldn't think of a better person on Earth to be up to the task." The man laughed to himself. "At least, I hope you're still up for it. Would be a shame to have to start over with someone else."

At least he still had some humor left in him. Lance clung to that aspect of him like a lifeline. But he knew how unfair it would be for him to back out now and confine this man even further. He'd already accepted his fate, even had to make the most difficult decision in his short life to leave his family behind. He had spent the past year preparing to take on the role that would make or break the very harmony of the world itself, and he was to stick with it.

"You know all the rules, the procedures, all the good stuff." Lance watched as his mentor, the Caretaker of hopes and dreams, turned his back to him and continued to speak. "I don't give my trust lightly, but you've earned it." Light tendrils snaked around his feet as he began walking towards the cluster of dark blue and black trees, and they parted as if on command. He stopped just before the clearing ended and turned back around to face Lance, who instinctively drew himself up taller out of respect. They shared an almost regal stance as he began his formal address.

"Since this Earth has known the value of emotion, it has been the Caretaker's duty to administer and restore the happiness and love, the necessities to carry on the human race, to the items they hold dear. We fill the void, and bring light where the corrupt have taken root. Lance McClain, I am entrusting you to this task." He hesitated, and Lance noted it was a rare moment where the older man sounded vulnerable. 

Lance sucked in his breath, willing himself to not make this any harder for them than it needed to be.

"Hold out your hands." The command was gentle yet firm, just like it was in his nature to be. Lance complied, gripping his hands with as much strength he could muster. The Caretaker closed his eyes, and an instantaneous mixture of white and blue lights enveloped them both. Every inch of the place they called home was illuminated, and it pulsed with a renewed sense of purpose. Lance had seen these lights a thousand odd times, even made them himself, but none of those times could even compare to this. This was a transfer of power to a human, one that would relinquish him of that very title.

"I thank you for your sacrifice, Lance. Know that what you're about to do holds a great responsibility, and will ultimately decide the fate of the human race. I ask only that you use this for good. But know that the good may not always seem right." He smiled again, that same tired yet relieved smile. "But you can do it."

"Caretaker, I-" Lance began, trying to voice his doubt, but he was quickly cut off.

"You don't need to call me that, anymore. It's your title, now." He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, a sense of calm washing over him. In his next words, his voice seemed to project farther, as if to let the world know the weight of the scene about to unfold.

_"I give it to you, now."_

And then he felt it. All the white energy surrounding them, filling the air, surged into Lance's very being. It froze his skin like layers of ice, yet coursed through his veins as hot as lava. He felt the static through his palms, reaching down to his toes and back up to his head and coating his lungs. The pain was gone in a flash, as quick as it had come, but it left Lance on shaky legs. Still, he stood his ground. He would do this. He could do this.

The old Caretaker released the shared bond, effectively cutting off the energy flow; he was used up now, and Lance had it all.

They stood there for several agonizingly long moments, one having said all he could and the other in a complete daze. Lance broke the silence by throwing his arms around his predecessor.

"I'll miss you," he mumbled into his shoulder. He relaxed into the other's embrace. His closest friend.

"Of course, I'll miss you, too." He hugged Lance tightly for a few more moments before pushing him back some. "So be good, alright? I'm counting on you." He smiled again, wider and more relaxed this time. Lance recognized it as the look of a mortal man looking forward to rest. "Don't go letting Zarkon get the best of you."

Lance laughed. "Never," he said.

As he began receding into the dark, gaping hole in the forest, Lance could only watch, rooted to the spot. No longer was the light centering in on the man's boots; it wasn't even there. The only white around him was his tuft of hair, bleached from the stress of centuries spent working the same routine.

"D-Don't trip walking backwards like that!" Lance called in a last attempt to lighten the mood. The lump in his throat reminded him the situation was anything but that.

"If I do, it won't be a problem," was the reply he got. The voice carrying the words was growing softer with each step into the darkness.

"Goodbye, Lance. And again, thank you." It was the last thing he would ever hear from his old mentor. The man who taught him all he could know about his new life. But, most importantly, the man who had saved him.

"Goodbye…Shiro."

Lance was officially, utterly, alone. 

A dull throb in his left arm snatched his attention away. He flexed his fingers, having to catch himself from taking a step back when the ground reacted. The light he had summoned created an image he could only describe as a reverse waterfall from the ground to the tips of his fingers, though it looked different. It was nothing new to him, the magical abilities, but as a mortal he could never gather up this much. The second thing he noticed was that, unlike Shiro's bright white energy, his glowed a calming blue. It solidified the waterfall look in his mind, and some part of him beamed with joy. He had his full ability, now.

When he was finally able to pull himself away from the edge of the forest--it had closed itself back up--he quietly meandered back to the little home that he now officially owned. It was small and cozy, but he didn't go inside. Instead, he sat below the Tree of Precious Belongings. Whoever came up with the name wasn't all that creative, Lance had always mused.

Above him hung an assortment of children's toys and adults' trinkets from the old tree's drooping branches. A rusted pocket watch was even touching the ground. He could now feel them tug at his chest as they yearned to be filled with something. He knew he would have to start working on them soon, but not now. He was fresh out of loving emotion.

Not wishing to look at them any longer, he stood back up, stretched his legs, and walked around the small garden in front of the house several times. He was beginning to feel somewhat irritated at the light that bounced along with his steps--would he have to tiptoe to get it to lay lower?--and stopped by the small gate. Shiro had planted vegetables for the both of them, and Lance had no intentions of letting the garden die. A quick jog to the nearby well and a few minutes of watering them, and he was satisfied. He had been warned on several occasions to not use any kind of emotional magic on people or food, and perhaps he would ignore it and try his hand at gardening some other time, but left it alone for the time being.

Lance regarded his clothes with a frown. He was well overdue for a new pair of breeches, at least. Everything on him was made by his mother and sisters, which made it hard to part with, but he needed to change, so he decided on storing them for keepsake. Of all the things he would see over time, one of the ones he wondered about the most was how views on fashion would change.

Heart somewhat lightened but still holding him down, Lance finally went for the door of the house, aiming for the pile of fabrics he knew were kept somewhere in the back. He had enough knowledge on sewing to get by, and he had always admired a good cape.


	2. Chapter 2

Hunk knocked on the metal side of the old screen door, balancing a small box covered in Saran Wrap on his other hand with practiced ease. He had to wait patiently for the old lady who lived there to reach the door, but he still greeted her with a warm smile.

"Afternoon, ma'am. I've got your dinner!" he stated cheerily, watching her face pull into a delighted, toothy grin.

She took the box with shaking arms, and the small carton of milk started following the pull of gravity off the side of it. Before it had the chance to reach its untimely demise, Hunk snatched it back up, taking the box back after a moment of thought. "How about I just take this inside for you. That okay, Mrs. Angelle?"

The old woman nodded, taking a step back to let him in. "You're too kind, Hunk," she rasped.

"I'm happy to help," he replied. He wasn't technically supposed to enter houses, but he couldn't help himself. It wouldn't kill anyone.

They only spoke for a few minutes before Hunk had to move on. He waved one final goodbye and headed down the cracked pavement to his truck.

That had been his last delivery of the day. He could still smell the aroma of mashed potatoes from the back seat, and he closed his eyes as he breathed it in.

It was a simple thing, the scent, but it reminded him of home. Especially of his mother, though there was no possible way that food could equal hers. Hunk sighed and clutched the small gold band on the chain around his neck for a brief moment, smiling at the warmth he received from it. His mother's wedding ring. All of her sweet words and gentle lessons encompassed in this one tiny item provided him with a sense of deep calm and comfort, even after she'd passed.

_ Well, can't sit in front of this house forever,  _ he thought. With one final glance around for good measure, he started the drive back to the little building that housed the Meals on Wheels kitchen.

It had been several years since he'd joined the program. He had always been fond of assisting others in any way he could; it was a way of giving back to the people who had done so much for him first. Everyone in their little town shared their families amongst each other, helping to raise one another and keep good company. They'd always been a huge support through his life, especially when his mother died, and he wouldn't trade that bond for the world.

Hunk's gaze scanned the ground to the left as he navigated the streets. Kids kicked deflating soccer balls amongst each other, squealing in delight as they rattled the chain fences that divided the houses. Others raced their hand-me-down bikes that had lost their initial shine, but certainly not their charm, whizzing past Hunk in his meandering speed. He whistled absently; home was a nice place to be. Home was comfortable.

A flash of blue caught his eye to the right of the truck, and he quickly slammed on the brakes before a teenage boy hopped across the street.

The dark-skinned guy flashed an apologetic smile and gave a curt wave, but didn't slow down. Once he was out of sight, Hunk had to remind himself that he hadn't hit anyone and he was allowed to breathe again. He'd run off so fast that Hunk didn't even get a chance to call out to him.

That encounter reminded him of how nervous driving around this place made him. People were always dodging around cars, especially kids. He couldn't handle the idea of running someone over.

Regaining his bearings, he pulled up to the small building, letting the sound of gravel crunching under the tires usher away the thoughts.

The place had once been a home before it had been remodeled as the Meals on Wheels base in southern Louisiana. It was shaded by a large tree to the left and had at least three entrances. Hunk used the front steps.

The door opened with a groan. Inside, a wooden table sat in the center of the room. Small groups of people chatted around or gathered their things to leave. One woman entered from the adjacent hallway that led to the kitchen, her face pulled taught around the wrinkles into a smile when she saw him. Her coarse hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and she had on a light blue apron with flecks of food staining it.

"Hunk," she said, "back so soon? You're getting faster every route you go on." She shook her head. "Not stealing the boxes, are you?" she teased. The woman—her name was Mrs. Durell, but everyone here referred to her as Nanna—had always used that joke with Hunk's mother.

"Not this time, Nanna," he responded, taking up his own apron from the rack by the hallway. "Just learning the routes better."

Nanna scoffed. "You learned that at  _ least  _ two years ago, boy."

Hunk shrugged. "Still can learn. Oh, are the kids here?"

The woman opened her mouth only to be drowned out by loud shouting followed by a crash in the kitchen. She sighed, the crease in her brow deepening. "You bet."

Hunk chuckled momentarily. "I'll take care of it, you just sit tight." At the sound of another crash, Hunk tightened the back of the apron and hurried towards the commotion.

"You gotta pay for it now!"

"Do not!"

"Yeah-huh, that's the  _ rules.  _ Nanna said so."

Hunk stepped up to the two children with practiced caution. "Alright, guys, we don't need to wreck the whole kitchen," he said, eyeing the three stainless-steel bowls lying on the ground.

The little girl broke her threatening stance and stared up at him, clutching onto an odd robot-looking toy that was nearly half the size of her. She donned a pout that could melt a person's heart down to a puddle as she gazed up at him, but Hunk knew it was just a practiced act she used to get people on her side.

"Rolo broke my toy," she whined.

Her brother huffed. "You ran into the counter."

"You were chasing me!"

"Hey, hey!" Hunk called. The siblings' attention snapped back to him. "Nyma, I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. Accidents happen, right?"

She nodded solemnly, her tight curls bouncing in their pigtails.

Nyma and Rolo were orphaned as babies, dropped off one day at the door of that very building in scraggled cloths, side by side in an old box barely big enough to fit the both of them. Nobody really knew if they were really related, only that they were sent together. Nanna had taken them in and raised them, and as they grew they often accompanied her to work on weekends. And wreaked havoc while they were at it.

Rolo tugged at his sleeve. "Can you fix it for her?" he asked. At least he was concerned for her.

Hunk smiled. "Who do you think I am? Go fetch me a screwdriver in the second drawer from the counter."

The boy nodded briskly and scurried off to retrieve the tool while his sister frowned at the toy. Hunk could now tell that she was the only thing holding its leg up to the body where it had snapped off. It wouldn't be difficult to fix from what he could see.

Squatting down to the floor, he held out his hands to Nyma. "Can I see the robot?" he questioned politely. She nodded and laid it out gingerly on his arms.

"Take care of it, I bought that myself," she said, holding her head up proudly as Rolo reappeared by his side.

"Wow," he replied, taking the screwdriver from Rolo, "that's a pretty big step in being responsible." The thing looked strange, having what he thought looked like cats for limbs, but he didn't judge her.

The two kids sat on either side of Hunk as he found the screw that had fallen on the ground and tightened it into place. He swung the leg back and forth to test it out, nodding when he found it satisfactory.

"Alright, one fixed robot, coming up," he said with a dramatic flair. Nyma squealed and snatched it up, hugging it tight.

"I knew you could fix it! Rolo didn't think you could."

"Hey!"

Hunk sighed. "Guys, not again." They really were always fighting against someone or each other.

Rolo stuck his tongue out at his sister, and she looked about ready to whack him over the head with her newly-fixed toy.

"Rolo, what do you say to Nyma for breaking her robot?" Hunk asked.

The boy sighed. "Sorry," he muttered, the way kids said it when they didn't really mean it.

"Good," she replied, quickly adding "I forgive you" after seeing the warning look in Hunk's eyes.

They turned to scurry away, but Hunk called Nyma back before she could escape, leaving Rolo to run to Nanna.

"You forgot something," he pointed out with a smile.

She mouthed a small  _ oh  _ and cleared her throat loudly.

Holding out the robot in all it's odd-colored glory, she looked at it straight on and spoke. "I'm sorry I didn't take better care of you. I'll work on that." She hugged it close and turned to Hunk.

"Why do we do that?" she asked for what had to be the hundredth time. She loved to hear the explanation, and he couldn't blame her. It was a fun myth his mother had taught him when he was younger.

Hunk pretended to be in thought for several moments and snapped his fingers. "Ah, I remember. When we have something important to us," he began, "we have to let it know that it's loved. If we're careless with our things, they'll disappear and end up with someone who wants to be really responsible with it." Nyma looked at him, trying and failing to conceal her wonder as she gripped the toy tighter.

"So, if you do your part in showing love, that toy will return the favor by making you happy." Hunk's fingers absently found their way once more to the gold band hanging from his neck.

Nyma smiled brightly. "I'm glad I know that better than Rolo does."

Hunk laughed. "Maybe you can teach him."

She nodded one final time and ran off to find him.

With a yawn, Hunk got back to his feet and retrieved the fallen pots. They clanged together loudly as he stacked them and returned them to the cabinet. How had they even opened that for it to fall out?

Nanna was still sitting at the table when he found her. One look at Hunk and she shook her  head slowly. "This place would look like hurricane season got angry if we didn't have you to straighten things out."

"I'm just doing what I can," he replied with a brief yawn. "I can get back to the kitchen and-"

"No," she cut him off, "you're going home and getting some rest."

Hunk was about to retort when the look in her eyes shut his mouth. He knew better than to argue with an old southern lady.

Still, after he hung up his apron and headed out the door, he lingered. "When's the next truck coming with-"

" _ Home. _ "

"Sorry."

Hunk walked slowly down the side ramp, testing out the area where the wood was going soft.

Feeling comfortable with the rest, he walked at a normal pace. Suddenly, a splintering sound resonated through his ears, and he was falling before he realized it.

He blindly reached out for something to latch onto, but only met air. He scrunched his eyes shut to brace for the impact on the ground, but it didn't come.

Opening one eye, he saw a familiar-looking figure bracing him up with his shoulder.

"Help me out a little?" he asked with a strained laugh.

"Oh, yeah." Hunk righted himself on the ground, sighing with relief. "Sorry about that," he said, jiggling the rest of the rail. "Needs repairing."

Looking at his face, the teenager seemed to be about the same age as Hunk. He smiled brightly, dusting off his pants. "Need anything else, mystery dude?"

From Hunk's perspective, he seemed way less of a mystery than this stranger in front of him. He was a little on the thin side, his hair was somewhat frazzled—Hunk assumed that was from running in front of cars--and he held an air about him that made him seem both young and old.

"You're the guy I almost ran over earlier," Hunk said before he could catch himself.

The other's eyebrows rose. "Oh, that was you? Sorry about that, buddy. In a rush, you know?"

Hunk nodded absently. Why was  _ he  _ apologizing?

"By the way, I think it would be a good idea to get that rebuilt completely instead of just fixing one part, but what do I know," he stated simply.

"Uh...yeah," Hunk replied, still somewhat dazed. "I'm Hunk, by the way." You were supposed to give your name to a rescuer, right?

"Hunk, huh? That's a cool name. I'm Lance." He extended his arm in a relaxed greeting, and Hunk took it, somewhat at ease having a name to put to him.

Lance glanced around for a few moments of silence. "I guess I'll get going, then," he finally said.

"Me, too. Thanks again for helping me."

"Hey, thanks for not running me over." Lance laughed before they exchanged goodbyes and Hunk turned and walked away.

Lance still looked like he was in a hurry, but didn't make any moves to leave until Hunk entered his truck.

As he was driving out of the lot, he looked in the rearview mirror to see Lance bending down to pick something up. Hunk hadn't noticed him drop anything.  _ Weird _ , he thought.

* * *

 

Once Hunk reached his apartment, he let himself fall onto the couch. He'd have to make dinner soon, but he wanted to just take a nap.

They really did need to replace things at that place; more than the ramp, too. It wouldn't be long before it all fell apart.

And what was with that guy, Lance? He'd stumbled on Hunk twice in only an hour, both times seeming at once rushed and relaxed. Whatever he was, Hunk hoped he could get it resolved.

Every time he was nervous, every time he needed comfort, Hunk reached for his mother's ring. It served as a reminder of her kindness, her strength, and most importantly, her forgiveness. Over the years he'd learned the implications that forgiveness could have. He never wanted to lose that lesson.

But he'd lost the ring.

Frantically, Hunk sat up and ran his hands over the couch, desperately feeling for the warm metal. When he turned up nothing, he dug through his pockets. Still nothing.

Reasonably, it had to be somewhere he'd been. He dropped to his knees with a huff and crawled along the floor until his head hit the front door. Tears streaked down his face as he snatched up his keys and ran to the truck. He searched the seats and the floorboards, but there was no sign of it.

"No, no..." he whispered. In the two years he'd had it, not once had he so much as misplaced it. Now he couldn't even find it.

He was getting fully in the truck to drive back to the kitchen when an image played through his mind.

A boy, bending over to retrieve something on the ground. Right where Hunk had been standing.

Lance had the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally updating this, so I can make an announcement I made a long time ago on my other fic. I now have a writing blog on Tumblr @pidge-writes! There I'll post updates, small excerpts in between chapters, and ideas for upcoming stories. It's also a great place to just stop by and say hi, because I'd love to personally know your thoughts or just chat. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

The gold band weighed heavy in Lance's palm as he held held it tight. It emitted a comforting and familiar feel of love and nostalgia, and a sad smile reached Lance's lips. Those were always his favorites to deal with.

 

A small part of him felt a bit ashamed at taking something so precious—the mortal still left in him always fought him when he stole instead of collecting—but Allura had insisted on this one. She'd nagged him about it for nearly a month before he'd gone.

 

Lance pocketed the ring and checked the location of the access point for a fourth confirmation. The end of Doug Street, by the big red house with the kayak on the roof. Strange. But if that was where he needed to go, then so be it.

 

He hadn't been in that area for some years. He rarely was sent on excursions in the first place, and even then they took him all over the world. Thankfully Allura had taken the time to mark the locations on specific maps several decades ago when he whined enough about not remembering them. A small yet sturdy leather-bound book held the pages together with their accompanying notes on the areas that he'd taken himself.

 

_Watch out for dog._

 

According to his own warning, there was a dog in the area. He took a few tentative steps in a crouch around the corner of the red house, keeping an eye out for any sort of canine possibly charging him. But it wasn't a furry animal that caught his attention through the slats in the fence.

 

With a sigh, he fully stood up and walked through the gate. A small white cross was stuck into the ground near the back fence. It was a bit worn at the edges, but fresh flowers surrounded its base in the grass, giving Lance a sad but uplifting feeling knowing that the owners cared enough to keep up the memorial. Inscribed on the cross was the name Duke.

 

Lance bent down in front of it, staring at the ground. He remembered the dog now. The last time he'd been here, he'd been chased by a little Yorkie around the yard for quite some time. He'd barked so much that Lance was nearly caught sneaking around out back. He smiled to himself; that's why he'd written that.

 

He plucked a small yellow rose from the bunch and stood up, tucking it into his pocket. "Good dog," he whispered, giving the cross a brief, parting pat.

 

According to the notes, he needed to go through a hole in the fence. A brief moment of searching found him behind the shed where part of the fence had been broken down and laid across to another yard, like a makeshift bridge. The planks were mostly rotten but seemed sturdy enough to keep a person from sinking into the mud. Lance hopped onto one and looked around. The area in between the fences was choked full of trees that twisted around each other and spilled over into the adjacent yards. It had to be the place. Now he just had to squeeze his way past it. Which also meant stepping off the planks.

 

Getting dirty was always awful. As Lance maneuvered his way through the tight spaces, he had to consciously not think about the mud squelching into his shoes. His only solace came from the fact that he wasn't wearing his cape.

 

The air began to cool down after several minutes of struggling, much to Lance's relief. The fences began to move farther apart until they disappeared altogether, and the trees spaced out to fill in their absence. Once he could finally move more freely, he stretched his legs and walked through the darkening area with his hands in his pockets.

 

It was a very welcome sight to see his house in the near distance. Though, however badly he wanted to head inside and take a nice bath, he still had a job to finish.

 

He took out the ring from his pocket once more and held it up to the diminishing light. He did the same with the yellow rose as he walked slowly towards the Tree of Precious Belongings.

 

"Alright, old girl, do your magic," he said with a charmed smile.

 

While technically it was himself and his magic doing most of the work, he couldn't discredit the tree. It was the beginning of his training, used to shape him into his role and aid him in learning his powers. Even though he didn't specifically need it for that anymore, it was still a safe holding place for the items he brought back, and it even replenished the near used up ones. Nothing but Lance's magic could take them down from its branches.

 

One particular branch had a few recently vacated spaces within easy reaching distance of each other. Lance didn't exactly want to go through the process twice, so he was grateful for the option to do them at the same time. He gently raised the ring and the flower to the side of the bark and pressed them against it, keeping a focused mind on their pulsing energies.

 

He didn't really have a way to describe what he did. It was as much a command as it was a silent plea, willing the very core of the tree to fuse his magic with not the physical item, but the emotions held within.

 

It only took a second for the reaction to start. Blue began seeping from the ends of the roots, running up the bark like shimmering water and ending at the point where his hands held firm on the two objects.

 

The ring was love, a fulfilled life of a mother who taught her child all she could, knowing she passed on everything he needed to know to survive in the world as a good person. The flower was joy, the fun of having a pet to love you unconditionally and without restraint, a friend to play with who could stay loyal no matter the odds.

 

Both were veiled in a thin layer of grief.

 

Once the magic had completely enveloped them underneath Lance's hands, there was a quick burst of light before all of it began to fade back into the tree. The two objects now stood on their own, solidified and hanging closely from the branch by a thin blue stream of magic. They'd stay there until Lance found a new home for them.

 

"That should do it," Lance whispered to himself confidently. He only had one thing left to do.

 

He stepped inside to change out of his muddy pants and shoes. After a moment's thought, he exchanged his blue and white shirt for his nicer white button down. As a final touch, he threw his cape over his shoulders with a dramatic flourish and fastened the clasp below his neck. He always made it a point to wear his nicer outfits when he reported to Allura.

 

Hundreds of stars dotted the purple fabric, and they glinted in the moonlight as the cape billowed behind Lance. He had his hands in his pockets and was whistling a tune he didn't know the words to as he trekked the path behind his home to a dark section of trees. Thankfully it was not nearly as crowded as the other pathway, and he could walk casually through it without worry.

 

One thing Lance had always found particularly disturbing about the area of woods was the lack of wildlife. In many forested places he could hear birds chirping incessantly, the occasional coyote rustling in the leaves, and sometimes even the footsteps of a small deer. Here, it was surprising to see even a sparrow in the distance; Lance was the only creature that lived there. He made it a point to ask Pidge about that next time he saw her.

 

Allura was waiting for Lance when he found her. He wasn't sure exactly where her area began and the path itself ended, but he assumed she was right at the outskirts of hers. Lance gave a long bow when he saw her, sporting a devilish grin. "Your majesty," he said in a drawled-out tone.

 

She sighed. "Again with the names?" she asked with a slight eye-roll. "You know that's not correct."

 

"What, can't we just have a little fun? It makes this feel more important!" he replied. They were already wearing clothes that suited the titles somewhat. She never would let him joke around for more than a few minutes, but it almost hurt to be shot down right from the get-go.

 

Allura crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "You think our roles aren't important enough?"

 

Lance held up his hands in mock surrender. "No, no, it's not that. Just messing around." He cleared his throat. "I finished the retrieval."

 

It was his job as the Caretaker to work with the exchange of emotions in the world, but Allura was the Overseer of it all. She was the one who gave him his instructions, and therefore he needed to report to her every time he finished.

 

Her serious expression vanished, and she clapped her hands together with a bright smile. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed. "How did you get it?"

 

"Hm...well, he almost hit me with his truck." Allura's eyes went wide, and he laughed. "I'm fine, no worries. Anyway, I followed him, talked to him a little, and by some luck it broke off the chain around his neck. I just plucked it right off the ground." He sounded a little proud of himself, even if he did still feel slightly guilty.

 

Allura nodded slowly. "And this boy. Did he notice you? Try to follow you?" she questioned. Lance couldn't tell why, but she sounded like she knew something he didn't. Which, of course, she always did.

 

"Don't think so, Princess. Why?"

 

Her eye twitched in annoyance at the nickname. "Just wondering. Be sure to deliver the ring in the morning."

 

Lance wasn't exactly buying it, but he let it slide. "Okay. Well, if that's all, I'm heading off to get some beauty sleep. Have a good night, _oh great Overseer_ ," he teased.

 

"Goodnight, _Lance_ ," she said.

 

He waved a final goodbye and walked back to his home at a quick pace. He was definitely ready for that beauty sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Nanna looked at Hunk with eyes as round as saucers, a feat for the wrinkled old lady. "You're looking for _what_?"

 

Hunk winced. "Mama's...Mama's wedding ring," he finally got out. He could feel the unrest in his stomach, and it was not pleasant.

 

"Boy, you'd better not be messin' with me right now," she said in her warning voice. That was always terrifying.

 

But Hunk would take her anger for a little while over the loss of that ring any day. "I'm not, I promise." He looked down at the floor in shame. "I saw a guy pick it up yesterday. It must have fallen off when I tripped and I didn't notice."

 

Nanna sighed. "Look here, don't go getting all mopey just because you don't know where it is. Maybe this boy went back to look for you to give it back?"

 

In her voice he could hear her doubt. They both knew very well that in this world, if you lost something valuable, there was little to no chance of giving it back. It was like the story he told the kids. _If you're careless with your things, they'll disappear_. But he thought the rule could at least try to make an exception.

 

"Hey, Nanna?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Where do things go in that story? Y'know, the one where you lose something important?" He knew he must have sounded silly asking about a child's tale, but he also knew that Nanna would still answer it.

 

She tapped a finger on her chin in thought for several long moments. "Well, they go to the Caretaker," she began. "Big guy, sorta like one of them old and powerful gods. He gives them to the people who need them, because he can see when and what they need." With a shake of her head, she stood up. "If he got a hold of it, there's no getting it back."

 

Hunk stood up too, a little too quickly. "Well why is that?" he asked in the beginning of a panic.

 

Nanna got a sad look in her eyes, and she smiled a distant smile. "Because we can't go there, Hunk. I'm sorry, but it's gone."

 

That was it. Hunk sat back down with a small thud on the plastic chair. How could it be over so quickly? Was it all he could do to just leave it be?

 

"But," Nanna said, making him look up, "there's still a chance that other boy's still got it. Go ask around for him before you go on giving up like that." With a final wink, she turned to head back into the kitchen.

 

Go find him? How would he ever manage to find someone just by asking people? And what if he couldn't?

 

"No, don't say that to yourself!" he said aloud. "She just said it...there's still a chance."

 

* * *

 

 

Hunk shut off the ignition on his truck so he didn't have to shout.

 

"Yes, Mr. Guidry, I know you see a lot of people in a day, but could you maybe ask-"

 

"None of us saw this guy yesterday. I'm sorry." The man in question pulled his hat down further over his eyes. "Feel free to ask those auto shop guys, though." They exchanged a quick wave before Mr. Guidry walked away.

 

The ignition in Hunk's truck roared back to life, drowning out his sigh. He'd gotten a few pointed fingers in Lance's general direction, but he'd come to a dead end. It was like he'd slipped away when nobody was watching, or up and disappeared.

 

Discouraged enough for the day, Hunk drove back home. He decided that if he was going to resume his search, he'd do it in the morning.

 

It wasn't until he was walking up the sidewalk to the front of his apartment complex that he noticed a body slumped against the side of the nearby house. It was the weird red one that always had that kayak on the roof.

 

Hunk rushed over to check it out, breathing a deep sigh of relief when he crouched down to see the person was still breathing. It was a man that he recognized as one of the teachers at his high school. "Mr. Scott?" he asked, shaking his shoulders a bit. He looked extremely pale—too pale. The gray fence his shoulder rested on looked eerily similar to his skin, and Hunk was about to call an ambulance when Mr. Scott's head lulled back.

 

What he saw made Hunk fall back on the ground with a yelp. There was a barely-distinguishable line separating his iris from the rest of his eye. What he thought he remembered as a vivid green was now a rotten gray that seeped past his eyes into the surrounding skin. But what was most jarring about it was the absence of his pupils.

 

He looked like a zombie, which Hunk was ready to believe if it weren't for the obvious rise and fall of his chest. Nothing on him seemed injured, but he wasn't about to rule out some sort of attack.

 

"Hey, Mr-Mr. Scott? You there?" Hunk asked. He could hear his voice shaking, and he felt sick.

 

It was a huge surprise when he actually responded. The not-zombie-man regarded Hunk with a look of indifference, as if this was a completely normal circumstance they were in. "Are you here to fix the fence?" he asked in a voice that sounded like sandpaper.

 

Hunk gritted his teeth. He didn't know if he would act aggressively, so he decided to go with it. "Yeah, that's me. Here to fix the, uh...the fence." Only then did he notice that the gate to the backyard was open. He could see that past the shed there was a large section of the fence that had been knocked down. It didn't seem recently done, much to Hunk's relief.

 

"You just stay here, okay, Mr. Scott?"

 

The man didn't budge.

 

"Okay," Hunk said to himself. "Yeah, no big deal. Just some...medical problem?" He didn't really believe himself, but it made him feel better to at least have a fake explanation.

 

Picking up a nearby fallen branch and wielding it like a baseball bat, Hunk made his way slowly to the hole in the fence. Even though he told himself there was nothing to be afraid of, he still felt that a little caution could do no harm. Then he began actually thinking about it.

 

The broken wood was extremely intimidating. Hunk's imagination started flying out of control. What if something had done that to the teacher? What if it was recent? What if that thing was _right around the corner of the fence_? He gulped in fear. He had to check.

 

One step closer...and then another. He worked up a fake confidence with each step until finally he ended up at the fence. With one last breath of air, he jumped into the space and started swinging around the wood, letting out a long yell to scare off anything that could possibly try to attack him.

 

But nothing was there to witness how embarrassing he was acting aside from a disinterested squirrel.

 

A tear of relief escaped Hunk's eye. He was safe.

 

Now that he was here, he could see that there was another fence bordering the yard of the neighbor's house. It was strange, considering how most people just shared a back fence. The actual space between them stretched way farther than the perimeter of the yards, however, and it felt eerily out of place.

 

The trees were thin and warped, tangled in each other's branches in their long-lasting grapple for sunlight. It gave off a feeling that was savage and completely unforgiving. Nothing about it seemed remotely inviting, and yet Hunk felt oddly drawn to it.

 

Hunk hadn't ever been the most adventurous kid out there. Never had he seen a problem with following the rules, laying low, and staying in his comfort zone. It wasn't common for him to follow a curious instinct somewhere he knew would be trouble. But this was a strange sensation he felt a strong need to seek out. He wanted to see where it led.

 

Still clutching the branch, Hunk slowly began maneuvering his was through the trees into the dark unknown.

 

* * *

 

 

Relief couldn't even begin to describe how he felt when Hunk found himself in a clearing. To his knowledge, it was a little past noon. He wasn't an expert, but the sun didn't seem to be in the right place for the time of day. How long had he walked?

 

He continued forward, astounded by the silence and majesty of the area. What really caught his attention was the old-style cottage snugly nestled in the back of the clearing. A garden sat alive and well in front of it, and there was a very strange-looking tree to the side of the house. It looked to be adorned with strange toys and trinkets.

 

Hunk had the sudden, very unpleasant feeling that he'd stumbled upon a serial killer's secret home.

 

Nobody seemed to be home at the time, which he was more than grateful to discover. However, his want to get the hell out of there and his curiosity were still at war. The sudden rustle of leaves and extra shiver down his spine led him to his usual decision of fleeing the scene.

 

He dropped the branch, turned tail and booked it away from the place as fast as he could manage.

 


End file.
